


The Worst Part is There's No-one Else to Blame

by appleschnapple



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-04
Updated: 2011-05-04
Packaged: 2017-10-18 23:59:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/194674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/appleschnapple/pseuds/appleschnapple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenris confronts Anders post-game.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Worst Part is There's No-one Else to Blame

Anders was hardly surprised when Fenris dragged him aside and pushed him against the side of the ship, and couldn't bring himself to care as the sharp edges of the gauntlets broke skin as Fenris pinned his arms down.

He was past the point of caring about anything. He'd expected to die – felt like he was living on borrowed time even now – and while he'd wanted the swift release of Hawke's knife against his throat, Hawke had let him live, let him _stay_ but couldn't even stand to look at him.

Anders found he couldn't blame him.

“I warned you,” Fenris growled, his voice brimming with venom and something almost mad behind his eyes. Anders wondered if he ever looked like that, if he _had_ looked like that as the chantry collapsed and with it the only thing keeping the uneasy truce that had gone on far too long. “I told you what would happen if you broke his heart.”

Anders blinked, slowly. It seemed so long ago, back when he'd been convinced that he could ever be happy, that he loved Hawke and Hawke loved him and that would be enough. He'd been _smug_ , even, hadn't hesitated to rub it in Fenris' face that Hawke had chosen him.

Maybe Hawke would have been better off if he hadn't. Maybe Anders would be dead. It would be some kind of poetic justice for Fenris to kill him now, then.

“Aren't you going to say something?” Fenris was looking even angrier now, like he wanted Anders to justify himself, to fight back. Anders didn't really see how it would make a difference now.

“What can I say?” he asked quietly, and Fenris made an incoherent sound of rage, a blue glow crawling its way up the elf's arms and Anders braced himself for the hand about to pierce his chest.

It didn't come.

“Don't you _care_?” demanded Fenris, gripping Anders' jaw and forcing him to look into his eyes. Isabela had called them pretty, and maybe at the time they had been. Now they were dark and furious, boring into him as if trying to figure out how one man could have become so _wrong_.

He wished he had an answer to that.

“Of course I do. I love him.” He wished he didn't, sometimes. This would have all been far easier otherwise. He'd have been lying in a pool of blood somewhere – and maybe Hawke would mourn his friend, maybe his final act would have tarnished any and all fond memories Hawke had of him – and Justice would be freed, no longer trapped and tormented in a body that was all too flawed and all too human.

“So this,” Fenris said, and it was a _snarl_ now and Anders remembered how he'd once called Fenris a beast, and for all that Fenris is close to proving him right _he's_ really no better. Hawke deserved better than either of them. “This was an act of _love_?”

“It was an act of justice.”

“You say that, even now? Even for all it's done to a person you claim to care about?”

“This is beyond either of us,” Anders said hoarsely, his voice strained with a sudden flood of emotion and the equally sudden desperate desire for an end, for release. “I'll never forgive myself. But it had to be done.”

Fenris shook his head. “There may have been something in you that could have been good, once,” and Anders knew it was as close to a compliment as he was ever likely to get from Fenris. “Tell me, was it your demon that ruined you or are you simply broken?” His words were cutting as sharply as any blade now, and Anders considered how long Fenris had been holding this back for. Probably for as long as he'd deserved it, and even Anders didn't know how long that had been. Ella, maybe? Or before then, back when he was convinced that he could still do good with Justice and that he shouldn't just be a means to the spirit's end.

Anders let out a breath that he didn't know he'd been holding. “Just do it.”

For the first time Fenris looked hesitant, and it made a small part of Anders want to scream. Fenris had been willing to kill his own sister; why was he pausing now when what Anders had done was so much worse, when he _deserved_ to have his heart ripped from his chest and his body thrown overboard.

“You wish to die.” There was no question, no emotion lingering behind the words. “If I were to leave you now, what would you do?” The implication was obvious, even more so when Fenris' gaze flickered to the knife he had hanging from his belt.

“I don't know,” he said truthfully.

“This... will only hurt Hawke further,” said Fenris quietly, as though the realisation had only just struck him. Anders smiled weakly.

“Yes. But then he will heal.”

“I'd rather make that decision for myself,” came Hawke's voice from behind them, and Fenris withdrew sharply, the cuts left on Anders' arms and jaw stinging as they were exposed to the salty ocean air. “And honestly, I thought I already _had_.”

Anders closed his eyes; he'd seen too much hurt written across Hawke's face recently, all too aware that he was the one who'd put it there. He opened them again as he felt a hand gripping his wrist, leading them both below deck until they finally drew to a halt in Hawke's cabin – as bare and empty as the rest of them, save for Isabela's. She'd been almost apologetic about it, as if she was supposed to know that they'd have needed a quick escape after the Knight Commander and _Anders_ brought Kirkwall to the brink of destruction.

Hawke gestured towards his bunk, and Anders sat down before he was even aware he was doing so. His thoughts still felt sluggish and slow.

“I love you,” Hawke said softly. “Right now, I don't know if I can or if I should, but I do.”

Anders swallowed, choking down a sob that he'd been forcing down for so long, because he knew that if he didn't he might not stop.

“I'm not sure if I can forgive you. I'm not sure that you even want to be forgiven.”

Anders didn't respond, instead focusing on his breathing. At the moment, that seemed difficult enough.

“I _know_ that I won't forgive you if you let yourself die – by your hand or Fenris's.” Hawke took a deep breath. “I wouldn't be able to forgive myself either.”

Anders shook his head fiercely, but couldn't say anything because he could already feel grief and guilt and pain welling up and couldn't bear to break that barrier down. It wasn't – could never be – Hawke's fault that Anders was ruined and would spoil everything he touched if given the opportunity. Fenris hadn't been right about mages, but he'd been right about _him_. He wanted to pull away as Hawke wrapped an arm around his shoulder, but his body refused, desperate for the touch, and instead he fell bonelessly into the half-embrace.

“Promise me you won't,” Hawke demanded, and Anders could hear the uncertainty in his voice, felt his shuddering breath as Hawke clung to _him_ like a lifeline.

“I can't.”


End file.
